Sarah's Choice: Time Travellers, #1

Summary

Sarah Flanney, disguised as a male medic, follows her fiancé into the Civil War.David Kish, a young man from 2014 winds the hands of an old watch backwards and awakens in his own house during the Civil War.He is taken captive, but escapes taking Sarah as a hostage. Sarah’s Choice takes the reader on a journey to days ago when theydiscover that they had changed the outcome of the Civil War.The story continues with five sequels, Keeper of Her Love,Time’s Secret, Time over Time, Timeless Love and Keeper of My Heart.Editors Note:Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.

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Sarah's Choice - Therese A. Kraemer

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One

I’m going to miss you gramps...

David Kish sigh, rubbed his eyes and recalled the day’s events, living them as if they had just happened. It had drizzled that day in Richmond, Virginia, but doesn’t it always rain at funerals? Old Sam Kish, his legal guardian had died two days ago. The aroma of fresh dirt still lingered in his nostrils; it was a bittersweet smell. As well-wishers and family slowly walked away from the grave site, David lingered there recalling happier moments with his beloved grandparents. In 1990, when he was barely two, his mother and father died in a car crash, so he never remembered them. But he could recall the sadness in his grandfather’s and grandmother’s eyes the day they picked him up at the Virginia hospital. He had fallen asleep in the back seat of the vehicle and came away from the accident unscathed, physically. Emotionally, they said he didn’t speak for a long time, but now, he has no recollection of that tragic day.

Although it was spring, the old house felt especially cold when he entered. A chill wrapped itself around his shoulders like a second skin. The house was now too big, too empty; it was like an old coat that had become two sizes too large. He walked through the hall, still able to smell the old man’s favorite pipe tobacco as it lingered in the drapes and furniture. In fact, the briar pipe still lay in the ashtray beside his recliner. David stood in the den among civil war weapons, medals, and dozens of books; along with his fondest recollection, his beloved grandfather’s watch collection which he proudly displayed in a cabinet. His gramps polished and kept the gold and silver time pieces repaired as far back as David could recollect. Except for one; the rare piece that never ran. He was allowed to touch all but that old silver pocket watch. Slumped into his grandfather’s recliner and could still hear his gruff voice echoing through his head.

Remember son, never touch that one. Never... I mean, never touch that one, David."

Then he’d light his briar pipe and blow ribbons of sweet smoke into the air. He had asked many times why that time piece was forbidden. Gramps only confessed that it was special, it had belonged to his great, great, grandfather, Brad Kish. The piece was taken from a soldier in the Civil War and that Brad’s collection had been handed down from one generation to another. But that particular one never ran. Finally, he stopped pestering his gramps when he’d grown and found girls to be of more interest; the secret was buried along with his grandfather.

At the age of twenty-six David wondered why, at this time, he should think of the collection. Maybe, because when loneliness crept into his bones, the thought of that time piece brought some comfort. He dragged himself over to the cabinet and eyed the watches. Not a speck of dust on them; just like always they shined from the last polishing. He’d have to remember to keep them that way. Always. A deep sigh escaped his tight throat and he was about to shut the cabinet door when a red box caught his eyes and made him hesitate.

What harm could it do to take it out and hold it? It would be like hugging his beloved grandfather once more. He gave into temptation and carried the forbidden object to the desk and sat in the overstuffed chair as if he were his gramps settling into the lumpy seat that had molded to his gramps’ bottom. A big clock chimed, it was late. Contemplating, he nervously tapped the box a few times with his fingers before he slowly opened the lid sending a chill of excitement down his spine. Like opening Pandora’s Box, he wondered if his curiosity would be rewarded. Would he set evils free?

David scoffed at his own foolish notion and mumbled, This is 2014, the twenty-first century you fool! With the weighty silver watch in his hand, he carefully fingered the casing, rubbing his thumb over the engraved picture of a farmhouse. A moment later, he snapped it open. On the mother of pearl face, delicate shiny gold hands sat straight up. Hmmm? What’s your mystery? he asked while rubbing it. Nothing! A Genie with three wishes would have been nice. He laughed at his foolish words, scratching the dent in his chin. Thinking out loud, he murmured, Gramps, I think you were toying with me; having your little fun, eh? With a tired shrug, he came to the conclusion that the damn thing probably never ran. Surely, his grandfather was embarrassed that he could never fix it like the others. Pulling out the stem, he would see for himself and spun the hands forwards. Nothing! He continued. Again nothing, so he tried backwards. Not a tick.

I thought so! he snorted, a bit disappointed at the watch and his grandfather.

He wound the hands back further, still nothing. No ticking, even after he wound it again. He sighed, pushed in the stem and placed the watch in his pocket. Then he rested his head on the desk and fell asleep, only to open his eyes to pitch blackness thinking that he was hearing things. Tick. Tick. Tick.

How long had he slept? What time was it? Damn! It’s dark. Why hadn’t he put on a light? After scolding himself, David stood and fumbled around. When he stubbed his toe on the desk leg, he let out another oath. His hand struck out hitting an object and he yelped recalling that there was nothing there before! A foreign odor filled his nostrils. He sniffed; it smelled like some kind of oil. Strange, he reflected. Again, he waved his hands before him, only air filled his palms. David went searching for the floor lamp by his recliner only to bump into a chair. His colorful language continued as he patted around the arm. Where in damnation is that lamp?! God! What’s going on? Something’s not right. He shuffled his steps carefully as he went in the direction of the wall switch. Upon finding the door frame, he frantically patted the wall. No switch. He muttered another profanity. Had he gone blind... or crazy? All he could hear was his own fearful breathing.

This has to be a nightmare. Be calm, he chided himself, there has to be a reasonable explanation. He pulled a lighter from his pants pocket. Click!

Oh...my...God! Where the hell am I? He stood in a room that looked unfamiliar. Except for the desk, nothing was the same. Not a damn thing! Confusion curled itself around his brain, the hairs on his neck rose and his stomach tightened. Where in God’s name is he? He walked towards the huge oak desk, squinting into the faint scene produced by his lighter’s flame. A quick glance around the desk brought another wave of terror; his grandfather’s collection was gone. The watches had disappeared along with everything else in the room. His heartbeat tripled and he was taking in quick gasps of breath trying not to have an anxiety attack. David repeated over and over to himself that it had to be a bad dream; he was overwrought from his loss. What other explanation could there be?

In his confused state of mind, he hadn’t heard the door open.

Hands up and slowly turn around, mister!

The gruff command startled David and he dropped the lighter and it rolled unnoticed under the desk. Disoriented, he hesitated then turned. An elderly gentleman stood in the door frame wearing a nightshirt and a nightcap on his head. He held a lantern in one hand and a musket in the other. Before he could say anything in his defense, as if he could find his tongue to speak, a much younger man also appeared.

Grandpa, what in the..? The newcomer turned to see that his grandfather was pointing his gun at him. David tried to swallow the stubborn lump in his throat but it refused to budge. How was he going to explain something that he couldn’t comprehend? The old man waved the weapon impatiently and growled, How in tarnation did y’all get into my house? I should shoot you where you stand! His tone held no degree of concern and razor sharp panic raced through David’s body.

S-Sir... p-please, he croaked, feeling his innards grow cold.

Go see if he has a weapon, Arthur! the armed man snapped at the younger one causing David to suck in a nervous breath. This was insane, he thought.

Arthur nodded and gulped noisily. It wasn’t until he came forward that David noticed his limp and the cane. Being eyed curiously, he obliged by putting out his empty hand. I have no knives or guns on me, he croaked. Noting he had no visible weapons, he stood behind David and said, He’s unarmed, gramps.

Look, he rasped. This is crazy and I don’t understand myself what’s going on, but I live here and... He made the mistake of reaching into his breast pocket. The pain in his skull was the last thing he remembered before hitting the floor.

Why did y’all do that Arthur?! barked his grandfather and he walked towards the prone body.

Sorry, I thought he was reaching for a hidden pistol or something. A bit shaken, Arthur sat on a chair and examined his cane for any damage, knowing he had given the intruder a good whack on the noggin. His grandfather grumbled and laid the lantern and riffle on the desk. See what he was reaching for in his pocket.

Yes, sir. Arthur slid from the chair onto his knees to roll the intruder onto his back. Reaching into the shirt pocket, he frowned and turned the silver time piece over in his hand. It’s only a watch, sir.

Humph! Give it here. His hand shot out impatiently and he studied it and murmured. Nice piece. He placed it in his night-shirt pocket and patted his chest.

What are we going to do with him? he asked.

His grandfather raised his bushy eyebrows in thought. Tie him up. We’ll turn him over to Confederate soldiers tomorrow. He could be a spy.

Arthur stood and rubbed his sore leg. A Union soldier’s bayonet slashed his right leg up pretty bad, causing him constant pain. Although he would never walk normally again, he considered himself fortunate to be alive. He had lost two brothers in this awful War Between the States.

Why do you think he broke in? he asked, now sorry that he clobbered the man so hard. Apparently the intruder was no threat to either of them.

Hell, if I know, grumbled his grandfather.

Arthur scratched his head. Do you think he was looking for maps or information?

Wouldn’t do him any good, all the secrets are in here. He tapped his temple with a finger. Go, get some rope. I’ll send a message to Captain Smith in the morning; he and his men are not far from here. The captain passed through these parts two days ago and mentioned where he would be setting up camp. A moan caught their attention and his grandfather hollowed, Go! he commanded firmly with a wave of his hand.

Grandpa, he said as he tied up the stranger. He’s not in a uniform. He’s in dress pants and a shirt. Do you think he’s a spy? Maybe, he only came in our home to rob us.

Horse manure son! His clothes are too fine for him to be a bum, so he wasn’t looking for food. No, I say he’s disguised to throw us folks off. He’s a spy all right. Now, tie him up tight and help me carry him to the cellar.

Arthur wasn’t very pleased by his actions. He had seen so many men die, and too many men wounded. He was weary of it all and if they were mistaken, this poor fellow didn’t deserve the sentence his grandfather had handed the young man. But he couldn’t go against the general’s wishes, so he went along with it grudgingly. He decided that he’d go up north, away from all this crazy business.

Two

Dear Lord, my head hurts, was his first thought...

David tried hard to push his way up through the agonizing darkness. Concentrating with painful intensity, he opened his eyes. Damn, it feels as if my brain has grown two sizes too large for my skull. And something inside my head is pounding to be freed. It was cold and damp where he sat, with an earthy smell that reminded him of the fresh dirt at his grandfather’s grave. He wanted to groan but knew it would only cause more pain. When he tried to sit upright, something was preventing him from doing so. Ropes?

Trussed up like a turkey, David wondered what he had done to be treated this way. With no clue as to where he was, he was grateful for a lantern that had been left by his side. With a painful grunt, he wrestled with the bindings but it was fruitless. Although, it was a struggle, he managed to sit and to lean his sore head against the cold wall. His legs pulled up, David rested his bound hands on his knees and wondered. Where am I? Why was I knocked into oblivion and tied up? Son of a gun! I need an aspirin. Jeeze, I need the whole freaking bottle! This really sucks.

Grateful, his hands has been bound in front, David rubbed his eyes against is shirt sleeve trying to focus in the dim light. His belly was queasy and prayed he wouldn’t puke on himself and have to smell it. Only heaven knew how long he’d be there. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, things began to slowly seep into his brain. The watch?

He didn’t have to look down into his pocket to know it was gone and he’d bet his last dollar that the old coot took it. Things began to fall into place as he played the last hours over again and again in his mind, coming up with the one and only explanation: His gut told him that the old timepiece was the key. He shook his head. Ridiculous! Impossible! It made no sense... yet it did. David resigned himself to the truth of it. Given the circumstances, how could he deny it? He had gone back in time.

Gramps, David spoke as if the old man was sitting next to him. Why didn’t you warn me? He let out a deep breath. You did, why didn’t I listen to you? I definitely opened Pandora’s box.

He had to get the watch back in order to return home, that’s if it worked in reverse. He prayed that he could and that he could get back to his century. As an afterthought, he wondered what century he was in; it was definitely not a good era in which to appear. The two strangers believed him to be a threat to them, but why? It not only boggled his mind, it hurt to try and figure this out.

He’d had better days.

His eyes scanned the dim room and finally grasped the fact that he was in his own cellar before cement had replaced the dirt floor. David closed his eyes again and prayed it was all a nightmare. When he sensed he was no longer alone, he blinked seeing a small field mouse sniffing at his feet. Not wanting to frighten the animal away, he sat still. There was some comfort with its company, as small as it was. They eyed each other for a few seconds, and then the mouse scampered to a corner, turned and scrutinized him but didn’t run away.

Hey, buddy, are you lonely, eh? No family? It wiggled its whiskers. David sighed. Say pal, do you think maybe you can gnaw at my ropes? His answer was more whiskers wiggling. But it did seem to him that his little pink eyes held sympathy for the captive before he scooted into a small hole. He had no idea how long he had sat when the sound of a creak caught his attention. Moments later a shaft of light appeared overhead only to be blocked out by a tall figure. He dared not move. Were they coming to kill him? The wooden stairs complained under the stranger’s weight. Dread pounded in his ears. Even though he knew it was useless, he struggled against the ropes causing his writs to burn painfully.

A stranger stood before him holding a lantern and wearing a gray uniform with a saber strapped low on the hip. The huge figure was intimidating and the weapon threatening. He knew from his grandfather’s history books that this had to be a high ranking Confederate officer. The soldier’s stone cold stare warned him that he was in trouble. Deep horse shit! He pushed himself hard against the wall, wishing he could evaporate into it, disappear again. Since he could not, he bravely looked up.

Who are you? asked the officer, his voice deep and commanding with much authority.

David believed his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth. This guy’s not one to be trifled with. Answer me! the uniformed officer said with a prodding kick of his foot making David curse under his breath, and then answered, My name is... he gulped, David Ki—-

Who sent you to spy on General Brad Kish? spat the officer.

David blinked but didn’t reply. General Kish, his great-great grandfather? No way! He contemplated this for a painful second. Well, why not!? Then he realized that his great-great- grandfather was named Brad. Damn, being knocked out by a relative; now that really hurts. Total bummer. He kept the fact that he was a Kish to himself; no one would believe him anyway. He received another kick snapping him out of his thoughts.

Dammit! David lost his temper. I’m no spy, he snarled. This is my home, you bastard! His answer was met by being unmercifully yanked to his feet by his arms. A pain shot through his head and spots appeared under his eyelids. If this wasn’t a nightmare, he’d died and gone straight to hell. On shaky legs he stared into the face of the meanest looking man he had ever seen. The officer’s eyes were the color of onyx; pit-like. His nose had to have been broken a few times and pock marks dented his leather cheeks. Thick, facial hairs covered his upper lip and chin but it was his eyes icy and unresponsive that frightened David the most. If he was in hell, this bastard had to be Satin... himself!

The soldier snickered and it was then he noticed two more uniformed men behind the ugly one. He slumped only to be grabbed quickly by the soldiers and pushed upstairs, making him stumble a few times. Bruised knees only added to his agony. The sudden brightness of sunlight brought more pain to his head, causing him to wince. Roughly shoved into a chair, he swore under his breath. His profanity was becoming a distasteful habit but these men were barbaric. With his eyes closed, he waited, for what he didn’t know.

Voices buzzed in his brain but the throbbing prevented him from understanding or even caring what was being spoken. He only wanted to go home. He didn’t think it was possible to be inflicted with more pain, but suddenly his head was pulled back by his hair and he almost bit his tongue when he screamed in protest. It did no good.

What do you want of me? he rasped. When the painful grip on his hair was released, he leaned forward resting his head on the kitchen table. I’m not a spy, he mumbled into the table top.

You were caught red-handed by General Kish. What were you looking for?

Again, his head was pulled back at a painful angle. His innards blazed with hatred and he swallowed bile. He had to regain some dignity